Walking Higher 10
by Faith Accompli
Notes: The monkeys you recognise from the books belong to Rowling, everything else is either mine or no one's. I have finally fixed the 'complete' tag on this story to read 'in progress', because I didn't notice it existed until today when McTabby pointed it out. If you're rereading this, McTwibs, thank you! Dedicated to my naggy lamb, btw. ;)
"Oh, do wake up!" A pale brunette Slytherin Ginny recognised from classes as Julia Trucido was shaking both herself and Emeryth awake with no heed paid to their state of undress or the three snakes coiled in bed with them.
Either she didn't notice or she wasn't the sort to care who people slept with...or perhaps she'd decided that since Emeryth had no problems with a Gryffindor, why would a snake be a problem?
"Emeryth, breakfast's in fifteen, Ginny, you've classes with us and as far as we know, you haven't a single thing with you, so we've done a whip-'round--" Julia dropped a neatly-folded armload of clothes on the end of the bed, indicating to them as she went on, "You're closer my size than Em's, even if you're skinnier--bitch--so these should fit you. Now get in the shower and wake up, both of you."
They scrambled up quickly, Emeryth remembering to throw the covers back over the snakes that lingered in her bed before they made a somewhat crooked beeline for the bathroom which was in no way as filthy as Blaise had led McGonagall to believe the night before, claiming the first shower to their left.
Five minutes into their rapidly-dwindling allotment of time, as Emeryth was dragging shampoo and conditioner down from an inset shelf and she was making good use of the rose-scented soap, Ginny brought herself to ask softly, "...what now?"
"Right now?" Emeryth answered, eyes tight shut as she rinsed her hair out and slathered on conditioner. "Right now we get clean, we get breakfast, we get to class. And we wait to be called up to the old fart's office."
"Fuck. Last night was not the end, was it?" she queried, taking to her own mane with the rose shampoo.
Emeryth dashed the water out of her eyes with one hand to give Ginny a searching look before she turned away, ducking to pick up the soap again. "No. No, it's not. Even if you weren't playing a deeper game than this... we're only getting started."
"I can't tell you how reassuring that isn't," Ginny smiled impishly before slipping back beneath the shower, noticing abstractly that the water-pressure was better in the Slytherin showers than it ever was in Gryffindor as a method of distracting herself from the real issue until she'd had time to think. Something in Emeryth's tone had been... different. Different, and she couldn't quite put her finger on what, on why. Damn Slytherins and their ability to disguise their issues until they wanted to bring them to the fore, anyway. There really wasn't time for this now, although it was going to rattle around in the back of her mind until it came to some sort of resolution.
Emeryth was dragging her out of the shower now, passing her a towel and hurrying back to the dormitory, the younger girl drying her hair quickly as she ran and discarding her towel as she ripped a drawer open and tugged on underwear, stockings, then the shirt and skirt someone had thoughtfully thrown atop her bed beside the clothes set down for Ginny. "We're late, we're late--"
"For a very important date?" Julia and Lucrezia had waited for them, Lucrezia unsubtle about watching as they dressed, and Julia held out a bag not dissimilar to the one hanging from her own shoulder. "Ginny--this might be useful. You're going to have to share textbooks, but we cobbled together what we had spare of."
She took the bag with a smile of gratitude as she struggled into the borrowed robes complete with Slytherin crest, accepting a hairbrush from Lucrezia and running it through her hair quickly as she slung the bag over her shoulder, straightening her tie with her free hand. "Thanks. Do I look presentable?"
"Ravishing as ever," Emeryth told her with a quick kiss, tucking her necklace away beneath her shirt from where it had come free of its own accord before making certain that she had sufficient ink and parchment to last the day, darting off to collect the books they would need for the morning's classes and glancing over to Julia. "Time?"
"Seventeen seconds 'til the deadline I gave. Another seven minutes until breakfast actually starts." Julia inclined her head towards the door. "If you're both ready?"
"Where do you think you are going without me?"
Ginny stopped dead in her tracks and slunk back to the bed without a word aloud, shaking her head and mentally kicking herself. "Nidhogg, come on then--"
"Keep watch over her, he tells me. Not so easy when she tries to leave me behind at every opportunity--"
"When did you get a snake?" Julia asked in curiosity, eyes widening a little as the adder coiled up Ginny's arm and into her robes.
Julia, it seemed, was the very picture of organised obliviousness.
"She'll tell you later," Emeryth answered for her, taking her offered hand and sauntering towards the door. "C'mon, Julia, you don't want to be late."
--
The Hufflepuffs regarded her with an absolute lack of comprehension when she entered the hall hand-in-hand with Emeryth.
Most of the Ravenclaws held nothing in their casual gazes but mild amusement, although there was disapproval from those nearest the head girl, those in her circle of friends.
The Gryffindors, though... a sea of hate, it was a sea of hate, near every face turned to her with loathing, even from the baby first years, most of whom she had shepherded around in their first days at Hogwarts. The girls of her year were staring at her with a particular venom, Colin looked simply confused, Mac was nowhere within sight, and she didn't dare look further. Poison, bitter poison when she turned away from the house that had claimed her for so long, they hated her.
She tensed against her will, her breath stopped a moment and her heart skipped. She almost lost her footing--and Emeryth noticed, Emeryth squeezed her hand, their eyes meeting for just a second. She had nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear, there was nothing the Gryffindor collective could do to her because she'd thrown her heart into the snakepit twice over, and serpents had their own uncanny loyalty. It wasn't fierce like Gryffindor fire, burning out at the most inopportune times, it was ice. Cold, constant, eternal and beautifully deadly... like she could be. Like she would be.
She held her head high as she walked with Emeryth to the Slytherin table, taking a seat near the head of the table where she could watch the entire hall. They wouldn't cow her, they wouldn't touch her.
The Slytherins welcomed her into their midst, most with no more than a nod or a quick grin, one or two with a dirty comment, but Casca Warrington jumped to his feet, kicking aside a few plates as he got onto the table, and he pulled her up beside him with nary a care for the strange looks cast at them from around the room.
"Oi, listen up!" Warrington stomped hard on the table--unnecessarily, every Slytherin eye was already turned to them, and a few of them were snickering softly, with far more idea of what was to happen than Ginny had. "I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome our newest Slytherin. I don't know quite how long she'll be with us, given that wanting to be a Slytherin is tantamount to signing yourself into St. Mungo's, but while she's with us--I trust you'll be excruciatingly nice to her." He bowed gracefully, the hand around her waist ensuring that Ginny bowed too or risk an unsightly struggle atop the table, and then raised her hand high in imitation of the winner of a duelling match after the referee found it safe to step back in the middle of things. "Ladies, gentlemen, and...others, Virginia Weasley!"
The Slytherins applauded, every single one of them. Their noise drowned out the angry comments from the Gryffindor table, the shocked murmurs of Hufflepuff. "Thank you. I think...kill me now."
As the applause slowed to a dull roar, Casca grinned at her and let her escape back to her seat, taking his own with all the dignity and poise of a circus clown. Emeryth rested her face in her hands for a moment before glancing sideways to Ginny, who was still blushing furiously. "I apologise. He always has been a bit of a git."
"It's--fine, it's all fine," Ginny murmured, willing the blush to die away fast. "After Fred and George I can stand anything, honest."
"Ouch. Point," Emeryth granted with a wry look, spinning Ginny's plate back into place from where it had gone flying at her sudden tabletop appearance, and shook her head as though to clear it. "Anyway. Think you can live through the day?"
"I can live through the next minute. And the one after that, and the one after that," Ginny cast an annoyed look toward the Gryffindor table. Her shame, not self-inflicted, was gone. She was doing what she wanted, and if that was a crime--well, let them catch her red-handed. She'd give them the finger and carry on her own path. They had the problem, not she.
"Before we eat--" Dumbledore had risen to his feet, tapping lightly on his goblet with a golden fork and clearing his throat.
The angry murmurs of Gryffindor cut off instantly, Hufflepuff's confused mutterings barely a second behind.
Half the Ravenclaws were silent already and had been for some time, poring over their notes and reading surreptitiously under the table, the other half finished their discussions with speed, one eye on the high table as they did so.
The Slytherins took their leisure finishing their conversations, down to the tiniest first-year girl, a blonde waif with a high-pitched but pleasant voice as she chirruped about an upcoming Potions test to a boy not much bigger. One minute, two, three, and then Professor Snape glanced casually over to them, raising an eyebrow. Dead silence reigned at the Slytherin table, and the timing was not lost on the other teachers.
"I... would like to say a few words. And I would like each and every one of you to listen, take my words to heart," Dumbledore paused for a measure before looking over the assembled students. "These are dark times. We are beset by adversity at every turn, every way we look, there are shadows. Now... now is when we must stand firm within our houses, and remember that even though we are all of Hogwarts - our houses, our families, can give us the strength to turn away from those shadows."
Pansy yawned luxuriously across the table from her, one hand raised delicately to cover her mouth. Draco pretended to be asleep. Blaise was scribbling something on her napkin in silver ink before she folded it elaborately and set the napkin-hat upon her head.
'Wake Me When It's Over,' Ginny read to herself as Blaise slumped forward onto her folded arms, finding the Slytherin reaction to Dumbledore's speech of more interest than the speech itself.
She let her gaze wander as her hand slipped over to Emeryth's, winking innocently. Emeryth took her hint without another prompt, sliding onto her lap and kissing her gently, one hand rising along her side gracefully, an exquisitely choreographed movement done for both her and their audience, which quickly began to take note. Ginny followed where Emeryth led, the world slowly drifting away until it was only them, until Dumbledore's voice blurred into the background noise. Unheeded by them, unheeded by the rest of the Slytherins who had found a show more interesting by far save for the genuinely unconscious Blaise.
"Very nice," Casca commented lightly when they drew back a moment for air. Most of the Slytherin boys and quite a few of the girls were applauding them, wolf-whistling and cheering, some of the younger Ravenclaws were applauding, and Sally-Ann and Sophie from the Gryffindor table were joining in alone amongst the lions, absolutely uncaring of the glares sent their way.
Dumbledore, she saw out of the corner of her eye, was looking pleased with the Slytherin reactions, very pleased, until he realised who they were really watching. "And most importantly--" he said, raising his voice slightly, "I want you to look after your housemates. Care for each other, make sure their needs are filled and that there is nothing... absolutely nothing that they desire, nothing that could let them be tempted from their path. You know the cha--yes, Emeryth?" Dumbledore paused in the midst of what he obviously deemed a fine speech to hear the question of the girl on Ginny's lap who had her hand raised.
"It's not that I mean to question your wisdom, professor--but this speech of yours does seem to be a little pointed," Emeryth glanced around the hall thoughtfully. "From my position it seems as though it's exclusively in light of last night's events. I just thought I'd mention that we Slytherins are looking after our housemates, especially our newest. And I'm doing my level best to make sure her... needs... are fulfilled."
Blaise wasn't as asleep as Ginny had thought, judging from the suspiciously muffled giggle that came from just down the table, and she wasn't alone in her amusement. Every Slytherin in the room had heard Emeryth's counter-point, from the tiny blonde at the end of their table to Professor Snape at the high table, and they were all hiding said amusement with varying degrees of success.
"Later today, Emeryth, I will speak to you about your subversive activities. What I have said holds true for every student in this school," Dumbledore turned slightly to look at Snape, his brow furrowing in deep thought, "Every student, and every teacher."
Professor Snape didn't even blink, gazing at Dumbledore without a trace of comprehension in his pitch-black eyes. She knew the professor wasn't slow, if he wasn't understanding a word the headmaster said, it was on purpose.
"It's in the school's best interests that we do not undermine each other's work--and last of all, I wish to be kept informed of all that occurs within these walls--yes, Lisa?"
Lisa Turpin at the Ravenclaw table lowered her hand, sitting straighter and raising her voice to say, "Do you mean everything? Because if that's the case, I'm in danger of flunking Transfiguration, I'm on the rag, and I think everyone should know that Justin Finch-Fletchly's one of the worst lays known to witchkind."
"That is, perhaps, more detail than is required," Dumbledore said sternly. "Before irrelevancies delay us any further, let's eat."
At that cue the house elves magicked the food up from the kitchen, only minor havoc ensuing at the Slytherin table in front of Casca two places up, when a pot full of tea sans actual pot blinked into place, splashing over head boy, toast, and assorted baked breakfast-goods.
Emeryth resumed her seat with a sigh, gazing disinterestedly over the sumptuous array of food before she settled on an apple danish, not batting an eyelid when Ginny helped herself to half of it as Pansy poked the truly-sleeping Blaise in the ribs and the sixth-year jumped in surprise, one hand already raised to smack the other girl senseless before she recalled that she'd asked for it.
Slytherin really was a lovely place, Ginny decided, when one saw it from the inside without Gryffindor bias, without those rosy-hued shades. Emeryth had told her the night before that this level of house-wide co-operation wasn't always so likely--in the days before Lord Voldemort's second rise there had been petty bickering in their midst, untold amounts of petty bickering. Never to the point of murder, not even an irreversible curse or two, but there had been more leeway, they'd not been frowned on quite so severely before Lord Voldemort's resurrection. They'd always covered for each other to the outside world, but now--now they gave new meaning to house solidarity. They had to.
It was far easier to be a Gryffindor, she thought with a fragment of distaste. Gryffindors were all that was holy and good, they didn't need to justify their every thought, word and deed. It was, all in all, an enormous scam.
In this day and age, it really was a crime to be ambitious and cunning. The Slytherins were none of them inherently evil, none of the people around her were mired in the rank decay of entropy, their 'evil' was no more than moral indifference and a willingness to stomp people who got in their way. If that was evil, someone might as well stamp 'Spawn of Salazar' on her behind--it would go nicely with the snake scars Tom had gifted her with. She was sleeping with the young dark lord, she had given of her blood that he might live, why not mark herself truly?
Of course, she had to be subtle, for now. But her eyes were open, and she could see. Witchsight, she'd heard of it long before she had entered school, Percy had read the old legends and myths to her from the moment she'd been able to comprehend his simplest words. Percy had been determined that she would know, and she'd lapped up his tales like a kitten lapped up milk. They had lurked in the depths of her mind with countless other fragments and pieces, half-bits of knowledge that she couldn't lay full claim to at the time...
She would not, she decided, be sharing her visions with her old friends under the banner of the lion. They just wouldn't understand.
They wouldn't want to understand, knowledge was not prized in Gryffindor as it was in Ravenclaw, as it was in Slytherin - ambition and cunning might be their primary driving forces, but they could appreciate intellect as the rare coin it was, be it dealt in large or small purses.
Chilling, almost chilling, to realise how swiftly she had stopped thinking of herself as a Gryffindor. How swiftly she acknowledged herself to be...other. She hadn't thought of herself as a true Gryffindor since her first weeks of Hogwarts, and after Tom had left her she had been--existing, not living.
The song of the lions had held a jarring note when it reached her, a note that only she could hear for everyone else in her house certainly grew to fit the mould that shaped them, she alone had been the reed that neither bent nor broke--the reed that sidestepped to avoid the breeze.
Of her year, only Colin didn't look at her with loathing, venturing a tremulous smile that she returned quickly. Harry bloody Potter was alternating between glaring at the Slytherins as a whole and casting beseeching looks at her, Hermione was all-out glaring. Ron grinned widely and waved at her with both hands, almost braining the Mudblood with a spoon. She waved back and broke eye-contact before her brother could try and call out, her gaze roaming further down the Gryffindor table.
Parvati and Lavender had found things yet more interesting than what house she was in, and were happily working out an astrological chart. She had to give them credit, even if her brother and his friends didn't, they were good at what they did. Better than Trelawney, not that that required a vast amount of skill or talent. Sally-Ann and Sophie were engaged in animated conversation, but the Muggleborn witch nodded encouragingly before returning to whatever controversial topic they were arguing this time. The waves of anger from the Gryffindor table didn't seem quite so fierce this time, not when amongst the crowd there were a few that didn't see her change of allegiance as a complete betrayal that ran soul-deep, that stabbed each and every one of them in the heart. She only wanted to murder a few of them, after all.
--
"Ah, Ginny? Dear?" Emeryth's voice drew her out of her thoughts. "Mail's here, and I think you're in trouble."
Ginny followed Emeryth's line of sight, only to curse fluently in archaic Latin. Errol was winging his tired way to her, bright red envelope clutched in his talons.
Errol dropped the howler into her hand and promptly passed out between teapot and toast-rack. "How DARE yo--" Her mother's voice filled the hall, and Pansy was already in action, leaning across the table to pluck the howler from her fingers, dropping it without ceremony in the milk jug.
"No Slytherin parent would dream of sending a howler during public hours," Pansy said lightly, looking at the milk jug with distaste. Unfortunately, its immersion hadn't made the letter malfunction, her mother's voice muffled and garbled, coming up in bubbles as the milk began to steam.
Draco stuffed a date scone down the neck of the milk jug, then another, silencing her mother's voice. "I never did like date scones," the boy commented as he watched the jug dance, his morbid curiosity shared by the rest of the seniors.
Its bouncing really was starting to get disturbing, Ginny thought as she slipped a hand under the table to grasp Emeryth's. Soft pops punctuated each new bulge in the gold-finished jug's sides, and Casca for one was starting to eye it worriedly. The jug hopped again twice, paused to tremble violently, and the trepidation on the face of every Slytherin mounted. They weren't stupid, they had enough experience in Potions that they could figure out the probable effect if intervention wasn't forthcoming. Ravenclaws were starting to look concerned, their ready minds jumping to the right conclusions.
Casca had enough, it seemed, as he caught up the jug in one hand, shouting "Lurk!" as he pitched it up into the air, over both his table and the table of their usual-allies, the Ravenclaws.
As one, Slytherins and Ravenclaws abandoned their breakfasts to dive beneath their tables, Ginny included. Warrington's warning hadn't sparked anything in her memories, but it certainly seemed to be something in the shared Slytherclaw vocabulary, and it struck a chord somewhere in her mind, something she suspected she had--for lack of a better word--absorbed from Tom, either in her first year or her fifth.
Seven Hufflepuffs and five Gryffindors had the sense to duck before the explosion, she saw when she and Emeryth peered over the table again. One Hufflepuff was bleeding above the eye from shrapnel she had not been fast enough to duck, and Potter was pale as the milk he had been splashed with.
Professor Snape resumed his seat at the high table, his example followed by Vector, Flitwick, Hooch and Pince mere seconds later. "Ten points to Slytherin, Warrington." The professor resumed his meal calmly while McGonagall looked outraged.
Vector twisted to dig out a piece of gold-hued shrapnel embedded in the back of her chair, which she eyed thoughtfully. "And another five," she said, pitching her voice clearly enough that the entire school could hear, "for your timely warning."
Casca looked quite surprised, and McGonagall rounded on Vector as the closest target. McGonagall's words were quiet enough for her to miss, but Vector's response was sufficiently moderated that the older Slytherins and Ravenclaws could hear.
"It was going to blow up no matter which way he pitched it! At least this way my throat wasn't slit!"
Hooch was looking at Warrington with no small amount of lustful longing now, the same longing she gazed at Ginny with when she was on the Quidditch pitch, same as she gazed at Draco, same as Emeryth. Same as Angelina the year before...either Hooch had varied and cradle snatching inclinations, or she was desperate to throw them together in a Quidditch team together under her direct supervision.
Hmm. There was an interesting idea. Perhaps she should talk to Tom about having the Chudley Cannons massacred. They could join the league as Team Morally Indifferent, if she could con Angelina to their side once her Magpies contract was over and find a decent pair of beaters...it would be a nice sideline for when they weren't actively involved in taking over the world.
"No more points will be awarded to Mr. Warrington, no matter how timely his actions," Dumbledore said sternly. "Mr. Potter was almost grievously injured," At this prompt Potter held up a particularly large piece of shrapnel that had buried itself in his bacon, "and I will not allow such things to befall him. Or anyone else under my protection at this school."
Dumbledore's last words seemed to have a hint of the afterthought to them, and it wasn't missed by most of the students, particularly Susan Bones of Hufflepuff, who glared up from where she was wiping the blood from her housemate's face with a clean handkerchief, saying in a light but malicious voice, "Oh, yes, heaven forfend that we interrupt precious Potter's morning meal. But never mind the rest of us, really, sir, we're just fine."
"Isn't this just a pretty mess, then?" Emeryth shook her head, casting a mock-sorrowful look over the chaos of the hall.
"Oh, yes," Ginny replied after a moment, sighing melodramatically. "Look, poor Hannah almost got scarred up something wicked, Vector would be dead if not for her good Ravenclaw upbringing, and - lest we forget - Perfect Potter's breakfast was almost ruined. All because my mother has no sense of dignity."
"Why on earth did you go out with him, anyway? Potter."
Ginny blinked twice at Emeryth's forthright question, frowning a little as she thought back. "He asked. Unspoken familial pressure. I had nothing better to do. If I'd had the faintest inclination that you... well, it'd not have happened."
"I...I thought I made it bloody obvious, I swear..." Emeryth protested in the faintest whisper, looking genuinely shocked, pure dismay crossing her delicate features--not marring, never marring, but showing her an insight into the depths of her fellow Slytherin's feelings. Too deep, almost too deep, as encompassing and raw as her feelings for Tom that she'd never thought she could admit to, let alone have...it hadn't cut so deep for her, she'd never thought she could have more than friendship with the younger girl, anything that had played in her mind for more than a fleeting instant had been locked away quickly behind walls that had only grown stronger with time...
"Don't worry about it," she managed after a moment's silence, trying for a reassuring smile as she raised her hand, traced down Emeryth's cheek with gentle fingertips before she kissed her lightly. "Your words of wisdom on Potters being notoriously poor lays helped keep me from making a deeply stupid mistake that I'd not be able to take back. We have now...and you'd not have wanted me back then." She ducked her head, biting her lip, her gaze straying to the innocent remains of the breakfast she had no real desire to finish. "I was just a stupid Gryffindor."
"You were never just a stupid Gryffindor," Emeryth grinned, hugging Ginny firmly and whispering quiet so only she could hear, "You were the stupid Gryffindor that I took great pleasure in perving at for the last two and a half years, and now you're the stupid Slytherin that shares my bed."
"Very thankful for your hospitality," she sighed softly, sliding a hand around Emeryth's waist to pull her closer with a patently false devious look. "That and your...generous nature."
"Any time. Really."
"Come on, poppets," The world had moved on without them, and Julia tapped Ginny on the shoulder to haul them back to the present, nodding her head towards the door with an economy of motion that had come to Ginny's attention long before she'd learned her fellow Slytherin's name. "We have a very important class in a scant few minutes, and our lovely head of house is not one that I like to keep waiting."
"That's not what's written on the bathroom wall," Emeryth said cheerfully, mostly-untangling herself from Ginny and collecting her bag from the floor with the hand that wasn't in Ginny's. "Hell with it, we've ten minutes before we have to get to class. I want to skip outside for a few."
Julia frowned at her watch, nodding after she met Ginny's gaze. "Fine. Five minutes and then we're back inside, whether or not you have your carcinogen fix for the morning."
"You don't have to come with," Emeryth muttered half-heartedly, only to catch an incredulous look from Lucrezia.
"You know damn well you shouldn't be about sans honour guard," the blonde chided, "even if you have no honour to speak of."
They made it ten steps, Ginny tugging along a fuming Emeryth, before Natalie MacDonald crossed their path.
"Ginny!" the third-year exclaimed, ducking around Julia before the Slytherin could do more than yelp in protest. "I know we're not s'posed to talk to you, but, look, here." She presented Ginny with a full pillowcase, evidently the first bag the young Gryffindor could find, and went on to explain, "It's--your books, and some clothes, and stuff. Hermione says you'll be back by dinner, soon as you 'find out what Slytherins are really like', but the way our house is acting? I doubt it."
Warrington had been on his way to intervene in case the Gryffindor had viritolic words or curses for their newest Slytherin, assessing the case quickly as he reached them, and he took the improvised bag from Ginny with a promise that he'd drop it in the dorms, wandering away again without stopping to chat. Seventh-year privilege, she supposed, for he certainly didn't act as though he had a class to attend in a few minutes. Not unless he habitually wore fluffy gorilla-feet slippers to class, anyway.
Ginny called a thanks after him, answered with a wave of his hand, and shrugged, looking at the young lion thoughtfully. "Thanks, Mac. It really is--appreciated, you're a good kid."
"Well, duh," Natalie rolled her eyes expressively. "I'm a little angel. The game this Friday," she moved on through the conversation without pause, steering it where she wanted to go with a Gryffindorly lack of subtlety. "You're not going to play for us, are you?"
The game. She'd completely forgotten, probably the only one in the entire school to have done so, and it was the...much anticipated Slytherin-Gryffindor match, probably the most explosive game of the year!
"I don't know," she gestured for the Gryffindor to accompany them at least part of the way, sensing that Emeryth was becoming more antsy, and they resumed their exodus with only a few Hufflepuffs and a first-year Gryff having to be growled out of the way. "If it was last week's 'puff match, I'd say yes, I was, but--it's a conflict of loyalties. I can't turn my back on my house, just to piss off and play for Gryffindor against them. Hell, I probably couldn't play for you against Hufflepuff either, every point counts."
"Well, we're fucked then," MacDonald said with a bleak grin.
"I'm sorry," she offered with a touch of futility, a wan look of her own. Mac's high regard of her Quidditch skills was--nice, it really was, but she realised she didn't want to play, not for Gryffindor, not with Har... Potter as captain, not with her brother on the team, not with her every fickle loyalty rewriting itself in green and silver ink.
"I understand." Mac gave her one last smile before she began sliding through the Slytherin mass to go upstairs. "Thanks anyway, Gin."
"Hey, Mac--" Emeryth called out suddenly, the Gryffindor stopping short at the second stair. Ginny looked sideways at the shorter girl, raising one eyebrow. Emeryth, as a long-time Slyth, had rights that she didn't know how to claim yet. "After we Slytherins kick some Gryffindor arse, we're having a victory party. Count yourself an honorary Slyth for the night if you want to come."
Mac looked genuinely shocked at this odd generosity, glancing to Ginny for her confirming nod. Most Gryffindors would've found it insulting, the automatic assumption that Slytherin would win, that a Gryffindor would want to sully herself in the snakepit, but Mac had never been that slow. She'd said herself that Gryffindor's team was fucked without Ginny--their current chaser lineup was working well together, taking Ginny out of the equation threw them all off-balance.
Ginny was as talented as Angelina had been, and fucked was a fair assessment. Mac being an actual friend--not close, but a friend--of Ginny's off the pitch as well as on, when the clamour and the rush of Quidditch fever wore off, essentially the third-year was one of the few enough Gryffindors that'd come to the realisation Ginny was an actual person, not just a set of Quidditch robes, a prefect badge, and a long mane of red hair.
She could almost see the thoughts ticking through Mac's head; Ginny was okay. Ginny was a Slytherin now. Ergo, Slytherins couldn't be completely rotten through and through. Even if the Slytherins did win the next match, Mac, at least, wouldn't be excluded from the celebrations. Parties good.
"If we win--I might just crash your common room anyway," Mac said at last with a cheeky smirk before bounding away upstairs. "Ta!"
Julia rolled her eyes and promptly hustled the other Slytherin girls outside the moment the third-year's back was turned, sitting down on the clean-swept steps with one eye on her watch. "Don't bother nicking off to the niche," she advised.
"Because even if you're snapped fagging, it's not as though you can get in any more trouble," another voice finished behind them, causing Lucrezia to jump in startlement.
"Hi, Professor," they chorused innocently as Vector claimed a spot on the top step, fumbling a cigarette box out of a robe pocket, tapping one free and lighting it with a silver Muggle lighter.
"Hi, ankle-biters. Don't worry about the tax--" Vector nodded to Emeryth as the girl started to pull out an extra cigarette. "I actually remembered to buy my own last weekend."
"And people say that quitting weed isn't good for you!"
"Shut up, Trucido. You've Arithmancy in two hours, I'm not going to forget this by then."
"Yes'm," Julia mumbled, suddenly finding her own fingernails very, very interesting.
Professor Vector smiled smugly before tucking a lock of blonde hair back and turning to where Ginny and Emeryth sat half-entwined on the steps. "So. Weasley?"
"Yeah?" Ginny looked up from her intense focus on a bad attempt at smoke rings.
"Would you mind terribly if I were to write a polite note to your mother and suggest she never sends another fucking howler to you ever again?"
...Slytherins got away with a lot more than Gryffindors. "Would you? Please?"
"I'll do it just before I go to wake Sinistra up. No worries."
"Thank you. Thank you very much." She couldn't hide a small smile of anticipation, then. Oh, the look on Molly Weasley's face...
---
Tom awoke late, by his standards, with early-morning light seeping through the darkened windowpanes. By his estimate it was eight fifteen, eight sixteen, and most of Diagon Alley would have been open for business a quarter of an hour. Knockturn Alley, of course, never closed. He was safe here for the time being, safe from recognition by means visual or magical, but he couldn't afford to tarry. Virginia's illusion-spell kept old...acquaintances from recognising him, an illusion that would, could only be seen through by a true witch, blood and mind and spirit.
His witch was young, very young, but her power after her awakening was unmistakable to him when she reached for it. She had reached deep into herself for the final note of magic and blood that cast him into flesh, and there lingered in him a trace of herself, her magic. It was another guard, a fragment of protection woven bone-deep, and a very, very useful one. Pure witches were thin on the ground, perhaps one to every ten thousand pureblood females, and those that came to terms with their power were even fewer. Most knowledge of such a status, such a rank had been lost centuries before so it had been no great surprise to him that Virginia went unnoticed, but still, it was a matter of almost-curiosity why Malfoy had chosen her for his sacrifice.
Something about Witch did call out to the old blood, the pure blood men...and some of the women, too. He would have to make it thoroughly well-known that she was his before she walked into the councils of power, lest she be given a more tempting offer.
A more tempting offer? Hah.
His Witch had resurrected him, she possessed him just as much as he possessed her, and the end results of such a twisted affliction remained to be seen, but he could easily come to enjoy it. Those who had held power over him in his schooldays, those who thought they could order him around, didn't even know he lived and breathed again. Any control held over him by Virginia's blood was, truly, a welcome comparison. Raw power ran in her veins as it did in his, but her mind... her thoughts... were kind toward him. Delightful.
One light breakfast later--nothing compared to the food created at Hogwarts by 'indentured servants' but still nothing to sneer at--and he was on his way through Knockturn Alley, heading towards Ollivander's.
The bell at Ollivander's door tinkled cheerily as he entered, leaning casually against the bench that symbolically separated the customers from the wands. Ollivander wasn't slow in emerging from the stacks, glancing over Tom with puzzlement in his eyes before he spoke, "And how might I help you? Not your first wand, I hope?"
"Hardly," Tom answered with a slight sardonic smile. "My wand was taken by another wizard when I wasn't in the country. It's quite time I gained another, anyway."
Ollivander nodded with a briskness of manner that belied his age, selecting a box at apparent random and opening it, offering Tom the wand easily. "I'm sure you're not unaware of procedure. Twelve inches, holly and dragon."
He lifted the wand, sketched a quick symbol in the air that glowed ice-green before fading out. Technically it was a good, serviceable wand, but it didn't reach out to him, it didn't choose him.
"Not a perfect match," Ollivander seemed to agree with him, turning to select another wand much less at random, as Tom returned the first wand to its box. "I don't believe this one will be quite right for you either, but whatever response you elicit will greatly narrow the fields. Try it," the old man offered another open box.
This wand reacted even more poorly, shooting an arc of red-gold flame out to set a glass vase on fire. Not the spray of baby-blue roses and assorted tiny flowers inside the vase, but the glass itself, which was rarely a good sign. He replaced the wand with the utmost haste, not even daring to hope that Ollivander had failed to notice but snapping "Finio," at the same time as Ollivander did.
There was an entirely too thoughtful set to the old man's face now, as he returned the wand-box to its proper place, as he moved around the bench to flick over a hand-written sign hanging on the door. 'Closed for lunch', despite the early hour.
"Perhaps you ought step out the back with me to discuss exactly what sort of wand is suitable for you... Mr Riddle."
--
"Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up!" She bounced hard on the bed for good measure. "Wake! Up!"
"Vtrria...g'nn kill you...lemme'lone," the raven-haired woman trying to be asleep beneath the covers mumbled, managing perfect clarity on the two most relevant words.
"But, stuff's happened!" Never one to stand on her dignity, although sometimes one to lie on it when she couldn't be arsed moving, Victoria Vector flopped down comfortably at the top of Selene's bed, mere inches from the tip of the Slytherin teacher's nose. "I can see that things are being shaken up something wicked right now, and you should be awake to look at them, and prod them, and then gaze up at your stars and tell us what the fuck it means."
"I'll kill you if you don't get out. Now."
"I'll kiss you if you don't get up. Now."
Selene opened one violet eye to estimate how the resolve in Victoria's voice matched the resolve on her face. "...I'm getting up. Get me tea and cigarettes. Bitch."
After three cigarettes, a cup of tea, and a refreshing blast of icy-cold winter air from the window Victoria had helpfully opened, Selene was feeling almost conscious enough to state the obvious. "It's daylight. There's no stars."
"Fuck. I knew I forgot something." Victoria grinned innocently over her own cup of tea. "Oh well. You're awake now."
"Oh you cow."
"Moo. So. D'you wanna hear it?"
"...yes."
"Well, you were conscious for Virginia Weasley's flit to Slytherin, I know--'cos McGonagall came up here to scream at you, too, and I was generously letting you steal my cigarettes at the time...but she caused quite a scene at breakfast, with a little help from her friends."
Selene actually opened her eyes wide enough to see more than a vague haze, blinking a time or two in a vain effort to become more adjusted to the light. "Wait. What. Pitched battle?"
"Not the Gryffindors, the Slytherins," Victoria corrected her assumption, even though the Arithmancy teacher's phrasing had seemed sarcastically misleading, "They made much of her--and Warrington pitched a Milkotov cocktail over towards the Gryffindors, but that didn't seem too premeditated. He warned our houses to duck first, of course."
"What a good boy. I hope he was justly rewarded?"
"Ten from Severus, five from me, absolute condemnation from Dumbledore 'cos he nearly waxed that Potter brat at the same time."
"I'll send him a bottle of Absinthe for his valiant efforts." Selene decided, smirking at the look of absolute shock Victoria wore.
"Out of your own pocket?" Victoria now looked positively distressed. "Who are you? What have you done with the real Selene? She's locked in a dungeon somewhere, isn't she--"
"Of course not, O moronic drama-queen. From the school cellars."
"Oh, that's all right then. Anyway. First off the little Weasley wandered into the hall arm-in-arm with her girlfriend, and the hate was pretty much rolling off the Gryffindors--so Warrington decided to make a scene. Dragged her up on the table, made a witty little introduction speech with references to St. Mungos--he was wearing the slippers you bought the team, too--"
"And then?"
"The old Weasley bitch sent a howler to the girl, Pansy and Draco tried to drown it in the milk jug, which then danced about the table and exploded mid-air, but--oh, shit, you should've heard Dumbledore's speech. I was about ready to rupture my eardrums with a dull spoon. Warrington showed why he's a fucking good Chaser, and--anyway. Seriously, something's up! I know your house's pulled its socks up in the last year, but this is brilliant. Rumours of a Slytherin hive-mind are already spreading."
Selene laughed aloud, putting her cup of tea down for a moment, raising one eyebrow mock-enigmatically. "You will be corrupted. Resistance is futile."
"Freak," Vector poked her tongue out before lounging back in her chair, gesturing lazily with one finger at Sinistra's response. "Your house is also about one step from standing up en masse and giving Dumbledore a great big fuck off."
"It's completely his own fault, you know!" Selene thumped her fist on the table, then winced and sucked on her fingers for a moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. We have our pride, damn it, and he tells us that if we're just willing to confess our bad deeds and do penance for them the next hundred and fifty years, then maybe, eventually, people will like us. Most of the kids haven't even done anything besides beat up and hex little Gryffindors in the halls, and that's hardly grounds to be sent to Azkaban! You've seen what they get in way of detentions from any Gryffindor teacher--"
"Why d'you think I've been volunteering to take detention so much this year?"
"...point. Anyway, the old git's policies are just fucked!"
"Ooo, Selene's revolting...and she wants to stage a coup, too."
"Whore," Sinistra tapped idly on the table with dark-painted nails before musing, "I wonder. Are we getting some sort of central organisation of house Slytherin back again? It's funny that this happens now, with Weasley jumping ship and causing such a bloody splash...she was fucked with by a memory of Lord Voldemort in her first year, I know, but everyone said she got over it..."
"With the time-honoured Gryffindor method of force-feeding the poor girl chocolate until she was ready to burst, yeah, I'm sure it did wonders for her. She doesn't seem particularly Gryffindor, as it goes, and had to have been spectacularly mis-Sorted...she's not mad, which is what usually happens when someone decides to oppose their house. She and Zabini have been dancing around each other for a good year or two that I've noticed, but what made her do it now?"
"I think I'll call her up here. Make a few inquiries. I know Potter was dim enough to shove Lord Voldemort's diary back at Malfoy when that annoying house-elf started popping up, and everyone just left it at that..."
Victoria smiled slowly, every last piece of the pattern slipping into something readable at Selene's words. "What if she asked for it back?"
"Precisely."
--
"You can dispense with the disguise if you care to," Ollivander said quite cheerfully as he led Tom into the labyrinthian house behind his shop, opening at last a short door that Tom had to duck through before emerging into a pleasantly-lit parlour furnished with antiques.
"Pining for the fjords," Tom muttered quietly with a flicker of resigned amusement at Virginia's odd sense of humour, feeling the illusion unravel itself for the time being as he sat down on a black leather sofa. Ollivander looked genuinely startled for the first time since he'd entered the shop in search of a wand, and had to swallow several times before he could bring himself to speak.
"You're... young again."
"I always was," Tom smiled softly, dangerously. "Now that we're so closely acquainted, do you have a reason?"
"For you not to kill me? It would look slightly suspicious, the mark a wizard such as yourself leaves behind on his victims...and I do agree with a sizeable portion of your original ideology." The old wizard took a deep breath before he continued, "And you do want a wand that's the best. I can make you the best."
"That's a good reason."
"I thought so," Ollivander said, smiling slightly as Tom turned the charm back on. "Now, Mr Riddle--may I call you that, or have you another name you'd prefer?"
"Riddle will suffice for the moment."
Ollivander was watching him with a gleam of bright curiosity in age-lightened eyes, unarmed it would seem, but more likely than not quite well defended, with the wardings he could see bespelled into the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the mirrors. Years of work, and Ollivander evidently felt secure talking to him here--talking what amounted to treason, by current Ministry laws. "You're not quite your old self, I see. Attempting to distance yourself from the man currently flagging in his campaign to cleanse wizarding society today?"
"In a way. My other self has made entirely too many mistakes on his path to greatness. I was given the opportunity to return, three years after my last somewhat disastrous attempt, and this time I believe I shall succeed." Tom's gaze rested on the man sitting opposite him, gnarled but skilled hands lightly on the leather armrests of a chair that dated back at least some hundred years. Old--older than any other wizard still living, his life almost certainly extended by his craft to the age of--four hundred now, perhaps a little more? Old enough to have seen dark wizards rise and fall, old enough--and pure of blood enough--to be worth listening to. Old enough to be a valuable ally, if his words indicating support and agreement with Tom's policies could be taken at their implied value. "Are you interested?"
Before Ollivander could answer, giving the question time for thought that was only proper, they were interrupted by two small and spotted felines that entered the room as though they owned it, one jumping easily into Ollivander's lap and the other rearing up on its hind legs to regard Tom with a thoughtful air before leaping onto the couch and sprawling artistically across his legs.
"Hello, you," Tom murmured to the Kneazle that had claimed him as a seat, scratching the animal gently behind its tawny-spotted oversize ears. "Aren't you gorgeous, then?"
"I'm in."
He looked up to see Ollivander gazing at him very interestedly--him and the young Kneazle purring like an old motor-car, rubbing its head into his hand for further attention. The feline had accepted him, and that--more than anything--had sold Ollivander on his side, plans as-yet unheard. "Brilliant."
The Kneazles seemed to trust both him and Ollivander, which indicated that they were rather dark Kneazles... another for the books, evil Kneazles...but that reassured him somewhat. His raw power, combined with that which he had tapped from Virginia, and Ollivander's advanced age and knowledge made it rather evident that if they were to try and double-cross each other it would be mutually assured destruction, even without the cats there, and overall he was inclined to trust the old man, as much as he trusted anyone.
It didn't seem a terrible thought to share at least a hint of his plans with the man, not when Ollivander had sworn to his side. No great binding oath, but Slytherin honour dictated they wouldn't screw each other over on a matter like this. "My other self made several crucial errors--making sure the European community feared him, for one, instead of taking full control in a simple decisive move."
"As you intend to do?"
"As we plan to do, yes."
Something in his own phrasing made Tom stop a moment. We. Oh, shit.
Somewhere along the line, he had switched from 'me' to 'we', which was nothing short of disconcerting.
Yet...
Yet...
Was it a bad thing? The self-centred portion of his mind screamed that yes, it was, whilst the cunning and analytical side insisted that it was nothing of the sort, it could be used to his advantage.
He had known that something of a bond would exist after his return if Virginia had survived--
"I'll fetch us some tea," Ollivander said quietly, recognising another man's need for a few minutes of alone-time, rising and taking the Kneazle climbing up his chest with him.
Tom nodded in response, unable to answer verbally, so wrapped up in his thoughts was he. One week ago he had told himself he didn't particularly care if Virginia lived or died; it had been a lie, he may not have realised at the time but now he knew...
This wasn't anyone's standard definition of love, not by a long shot--it was a jealous, possessive need, one not solely for Witch's power but for the Witch herself. His Witch, fiery beauty, flawed perfection, a contradiction in terms for no man could claim Witch without her willing it so, but the last two days his subconscious had been slowly accepting this--now it struck him hard like a blow to the head.
He wanted her forever, almost as much... as much as he wanted eternal life. He had brought her so far, he had shaped her with gentle touches and--less gentle, bringing the darkness up in her first year only to have it fade back when he had died--now it returned with a vengeance.
With that vengeance came her loyalty, her life she had pledged to his even if she wasn't consciously aware of it--her life she had given first, her heart swift to follow. She had woken properly at his hands, half-fighting him and half-fighting herself, but she had resolved her thoughts and feelings with less turmoil than he was experiencing now...unless she was simply blocking it all, pausing until she felt she had the time and the space to go through it for good.
He loved her, in his own way... and she loved him.
"Virginia..."
A cup of tea appeared before his eyes and he took it from Ollivander with a mumbled thanks, still lost in his musings. Milk and half a sugar, his preferred way--how did Ollivander know that? He didn't recall stopping in for tea, unless it had been after he entered the diary.
This he had not anticipated, not seriously. Yes, when he had first fallen into Virginia's little hands he had thought to make her love him, but the feeling was not supposed to be reciprocated on his side. The long-term effects of the charm he hadn't spared her, the care he had taken and the thoughtfulness with which he had listened to her and advised her, it had proven of more value than he had anticipated; she had brought him back when she needed him without any prompting, she had brought him back because she thought she needed what he could give, she desired him.
If she hadn't wanted him back she would have guarded herself, there was no doubt in his mind, because despite the charmingly naive front she displayed to the world, despite the consciously innocent thoughts she had kept at the forefront of her mind as she acted against the greater good, if she had been the innocent child they thought her to be--she would not have survived, she would have died instead.
The terms in which she had couched her reasoning for bringing him back were deliberately childish, so much so that they were a nightmare-inducing bedtime story of redemption, but beneath the calm and kind veneer Virginia Weasley wore, she was not, had never been the good little girl they thought her to be. She was faux-innocence that welcomed a chance to act out her corrupt little fantasies, and she would work well with him. Perhaps better than he could have dared hope...
"We're currently searching out people suitable to join our little group," Tom said after another minute spent clearing his mind, sweeping away the troublesome thoughts that had been resolved, rationalised, or earmarked to examine later when he had the leisure. "Would you know any likely candidates who have the right political and immoral leanings but... failed to join my other self's crusade because he seems to be something of a raving lunatic?"
Ollivander regarded him calmly for a minute before he nodded. "Many."
--
Potions class was even more interesting than usual--for Ginny and the rest of the Slytherins, at least--in that those deemed advanced enough had been sent to work at the back with their modifications of the Censeo potion in an attempt to improve on it, or if not improve; at least test their practical method and teach them what was not a good idea.
They were deeply engrossed in ingredient-substitution for a less noticeable taste and Professor Snape was lecturing the Gryffindors in a condescending tone on their poor Potions skills--if it could be termed such, which he doubted--when an abrupt knock came at the door as it was pushed open, and Granger appeared in the doorway.
"Ginny, you have to go to the headmaster's office. Now."
Professor Snape raised his eyes to give Hermione a glance that would make Longbottom wet himself, and spoke softly, "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you failed to notice that I am currently teaching a class?"
"Oh, no, Professor Snape, I don't mean to intrude for long. I'm just here to get Ginny."
"And I am just here to teach. But how, pray tell, am I to do this when I have annoying children running in and out and trying to take away my good Slytherin students?"
"Professor McGonagall sent me," Hermione protested at once, seeming hell-bent on hiding behind her head of house's authority as a way to escape further ridicule, "because Professor Dumbledore's expecting her."
"Oh, is he? I suppose I must send Virginia and Emeryth on their way, then." The professor looked over to where they were carefully measuring dried Pogrebin blood and pouring it into their cauldron, sighing with obvious displeasure--not at them, at the unnecessary interruption, they knew. "Virginia, Emeryth, a guard of six."
They rose, Emeryth tossing their unused ingredients back into a clean cauldron and Ginny gathering their books to jam them into her bag, six of their fellow Slytherins--Julia, Pru, Mordion, Alexander, Livius and Osiris--two girls to four boys as one handed their stuff to Lucrezia, Eithne and Iain for the remaining three Slytherins to finish and pack up.
"Off you go. Stall them until I arrive. Eithne, scout out Blaise, Draco and Casca--send them to loiter outside Dumbledore's office. Iain, you're nominally in charge until the class ends, full authority. Lucrezia, dispose of the Slytherin experiment, we'll begin again next class--" Snape started to leave the classroom as the nine Slytherins sent elsewhere had left, and Granger was still stammering that she was only to collect Ginny. "Miss Granger, do stop babbling."
As he left he heard a Gryffindor girl mumbling something about 'so much fuss over that Weasley slut' only to be sharply reprimanded by Creevey, with the accompanying sound of a heavy slap. "Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Creevey," he heard Iain say behind his back as he closed the door.
Awarding Slytherin points for a Gryffindor boy hitting a Gryffindor girl... ah, he'd taught his house well.
--
He only had one detour to make on his way to the headmaster's office, up countless...or fourteen...flights of stairs to the tower-rooms that the sole other Slytherin teacher held, conveniently close to the astronomy classrooms and decks, and walked through Sinistra's office-slash-living-room to find her not present--she hadn't crawled down for tea in the early hours, so logic dictated that she malingered in bed like the lazy woman she was.
Opening her bedroom door without bothering to knock as only a fellow Slytherin or a particularly adventurous Ravenclaw would do, not paying particular attention to the soft laughter he could hear within, he stopped for only a moment at the sight of Professor Vector convulsing on Sinistra's bed, the raven-haired woman he had expected to find curled in her blankets instead busy tickling the helpless Ravenclaw. "...Selene, so good to see you conscious at such an early hour."
"Blame the witch currently undergoing her punishment for that one. She came in and rudely awakened me before you had the chance to." Sinistra's eyes sparkled wickedly as she dragged Vector up into something approximating a sitting position. "I've heard some of what happened at breakfast, and Vic and I have come up with some interesting theories. Haven't we?"
Vector's giggles were subsiding rapidly, and she could bring herself to speak a moment later, "Yes, we have. Your new Slytherin's been acting oddly the last few weeks, and her Arithmancy work's improved tenfold. That kind of breakthrough's not completely unknown, but she's changed more'n that."
"I've been thinking... you do remember saying that the feeling in the dungeons was akin to when an echo of Tom Riddle was possessing Virginia?" Selene asked him, unconcerned about his noticing her lack of decent robes and her arm so casually around Vector's shoulders.
"Yes?"
"Vic and I think the little sprite got the diary back, somehow. It's a bit of a logic-leap, but she's the maths witch and I read the stars--we're used to this kind of step. Potter threw it back at Lucius Malfoy after the showdown, what's stopping her from begging it back?"
"Very, very little." Snape smiled, crossing his arms as he inclined his head towards the door. "I came to collect you, as it happens, because you are the other Slytherin in authority at this miserable place of sweetness and light...and Virginia has been called up to Dumbledore's office for a number of offences, not the least of which are bespelling her brother into a state of complete idiocy and switching house allegiances with such a light heart."
"Must say I've not noticed any changes in Ron Weasley..." Sinistra frowned, getting her snaky comment in before she had to be serious. "We should probably rush off and defend Virginia, at least keep her from being forced to admit anything to them."
She and Vector were already heading for the door before Snape coughed once. "Selene? As delightful as your half-naked flesh is, I think if you wish to be taken seriously you should look into putting some clothes on."
"Damn. Right."